


Extra Tzatziki, No Feta

by ienablu



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Closeted Character, Denial of Feelings, F/F, First Dates, totally not gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 03:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7828333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ienablu/pseuds/ienablu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jennifer Lynch is many things, and very high on that list is that she is a <i>goddamn professional</i>, which means that when the Ghostbusters call for their second financing-and-acquisition meeting, Jennifer smiles brilliantly and lies through her teeth about how happy she is to drop everything and come over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extra Tzatziki, No Feta

**Author's Note:**

> For those wondering, _why is this person shipping Holtzmann with the mayor’s assistant who got approximately ten lines_ , the answer is because ‘obscure rarepair shipper’ is my side job, and because all the fic I’m working on with more of the main four require [more research](http://mienuxbleu.tumblr.com/post/148378189645/i-finally-got-a-new-library-card-at-my-new-town). Being 100% done with everyone ~~and being a bit of an asshole~~ is something I need to do 0% research on.

Jennifer Lynch is many things, and very high on that list is that she is a _goddamn professional_ , which means that when the Ghostbusters call for their second financing-and-acquisition meeting, Jennifer smiles brilliantly and lies through her teeth. “Of course I can head right over, you’re not interrupting anything at all. It will just be a few minutes to wrap up this small matter I’m in the middle of, but I’ll be over there as soon as I can.”

Officially, there is no comment on the Ghostbusters, because there was no invasion of ghosts necessitating them to save the city and possibly the world.

Unofficially, the Ghostbusters are heroes, after saving the city and possibly the world.

For Jennifer… She’ll be honest, she read those creepy children’s horror stories with those creepy covers and illustrations, and she’s been scared of ghosts and the paranormal and anything horror-related since. When the ghosts invaded, it was terrifying. When the Ghostbusters did whatever they did that got rid of all the ghosts, Jennifer was grateful. And she does sleep better at night, knowing that if there’s a voice in the middle of the night asking where its toe is – even though Jennifer has been a vegetarian for the past eight years – there is someone she can call.

Other than that, though… Awkward Ex-Professor, Short-and-Nearsighted, and Strange Blonde are all a collective pain in her ass.

Patty is a saving grace.

Patty works with the MTA, and has held other jobs that required customer service skills. All Patty has asked for has been access to any and all New York historical documents and reference that may be necessary. Patty is a reasonable human being.

Jennifer likes Patty.

Patty is not here right now. She has a day-job.

And Jennifer’s day-job is to sit at a lab table and jot down all the things that the Ghostbusters need and provide them as expediently as possible.

Or at least that has become her day-job. Never mind the fact that she is the personal assistant to the mayor of New York City, it’s not like she has a dozen other things she needs to be doing. It’s not like Jennifer has a prioritized list and listening to Short-and-Nearsighted describe the copper purity necessary is on the very bottom of said list.

But Jennifer is a _professional_. She will note down all of the Awkward Ex-Professor and Short-and-Nearsighted’s silly demands, turn around and demand them from others, and joyfully go through the rest of her day doing everything else on her very important list.

Short-and-Nearsighted finishes up her especially-specific-specifications for the new digital thermometers that will be needed. As she takes a takes a deep breath after her mini-speech, Jennifer lets out an internal sigh of relief, and tucks her notepad into her purse.

Strange Blonde raises her hand.

Jennifer gives her points for courtesiness. “Yes?”

“Is it my turn now?”

Jennifer has a bad feeling about this. “Do you have anything to add?”

“Yes.” She pulls a napkin out of her pocket, and starts reading, “Alright, I need a bass guitar, a motorcycle, a hundred pink paperclips, an old Atari – you should probably be taking notes – a chalkboard, access to a high school bathroom built before 1989, about two hundred feet of two centimeter rubber tubing –”

“Wait,” Short-and-Nearsighted says, “you don’t need that much tubing for your alterations to the proton pack coolant system.”

Strange Blonde grins. “It’s not just for that.” She looks to her watch, then looks at Jennifer. “Last thing. Do you have any plans for tonight?”

This is perhaps the first time Strange Blonde has actually looked Jennifer in the eye in any of their three encounters. It’s a very intent look, and Jennifer blinks. “No?”

“Good, because you’re taking me to this great gyro stand up in Soho at seven. Now, I need to go see a man about some cherry bombs.” And then she’s striding off.

Jennifer stares after her. And wants to sigh. Desperately. Long and long-suffering. But that’s not professional. So she plasters a smile on her face and turns back to Awkward Ex-Professor and Short-and-Nearsighted. “Well, if that’s everything, I need to get back to the office so I can start on this rather impressive list,” she says, rising to her feet.

“Whoa whoa whoa, sit back down, sweetie,” Short-and-Nearsighted says.

Jennifer sits down and gives her the biggest, brightest smile in her arsenal. “Is there more you would like me to add to the list?”

“No, no, we just need to go over some ground rules for tonight.”

Jennifer stares at her. 

Short-and-Nearsighted sits down opposite Jennifer. “Now, I know Holtzmann is a very accomplished young woman. Very distinguished degrees from very prestigious colleges, a preeminent figure in her field. Not to mention the fact that she saved the city. And possibly the world. And, if you prefer blondes, she is quite a catch. But don’t let that go to your head, alright? I want her back no later than nine-thirty, you got that?“

Jennifer frowns. “I don’t know you’re trying to imply–”

“Oh no, not imply. Explicitly state. And that’s the only explicit thing you’re going to get tonight, got it, missy?”

Jennifer looks between Short-and-Nearsighted and Awkward Ex-Professor. Now more than ever she wishes Patty were here, so there would be someone with some sense to speak to. In her clearest voice possible, she tells them, “I’m straight.”

“Aww,” Short-and-Nearsighted replies. She leans over and pats Jennifer on the hand. “Honey, no woman is entirely straight after meeting Holtzmann.”

“Yeah,” Awkward Ex-Professor agrees.

Short-and-Nearsighted turns to look at her.

“Yeah, I can see how that would happen,” Awkward Ex-Professor says, awkwardly. “She’s got very nice… degrees.”

Jennifer looks between them once more. “I’m not gay.”

“Bisexual?” Awkward Ex-Professor suggests.

Jennifer gives her a withering glare. “I am straight. The agreement is that I will get you whatever you need. If Dr. Holtzmann needs gyros tonight, I will accompany her, but as a professional obligation, not as a _date_. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a rather lengthy list of demands I need to meet. If you remember anything else,” she says, as she smiles and she lies through her teeth, “please do not hesitate to call.”

*

There is a vigorous satisfaction to doing work well. It’s what makes Jennifer love her job – yes, the mayor is sometimes a bit… incognizant, and the Ghostbusters have recently added a few obstacles to her routine, but she is good at her job and she gets results.

And if getting results means having to go into a hardware store to get materials matching certain specific specifications and dealing with a new and very flustered cashier, then so be it.

And if it just so happens that there’s a sexist douchebag behind her in line for her to direct her pent-up ire at, well, that’s a perk.

*

For Jennifer, punctuality entails being at least five minutes early. At quarter to seven, she steps into the Ghostbuster Headquarters.

Patty is done with her work for the day, and she sits on the steps with Awkward Ex-Professor. Short-and-Nearsighted and Dr. Holtzmann are standing at the floor of the steps, and they seem to be in a very intent whisper argument. Up until Patty catches sight of Jennifer, waves, and they all turn to look at her.

Dr. Holtzmann has changed from whatever baggy mess of clothing she had been wearing earlier. She is now wearing a long-sleeved green shirt that is cut-off somewhat higher than the standard midriff, and a pair of overall shorts. And her seemingly-trademark yellow glasses.

"Dr. Holtzmann," Jennifer greets, with her very polite smile that never gets her in trouble.

Dr. Holtzmann rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. Only colleagues call me Dr. Holtzmann. Call me Jillian."

Jennifer looks behind her to the rest of the Ghostbusters. Short-and-Nearsighted is glaring at her. Jennifer can't tell if it's a warning to follow what she advised, or to follow what Dr. Holtzmann just said. She gets out of it by smiling again. Smiling solves everything. "We should probably get going, I know you must have a lot of work you'll want to be returning to."

"Yes," Short-and-Nearsighted agrees. "We've got a lot of work that we're working on."

Dr. Holtzmann strides forward, and wraps an arm around Jennifer's waist. Over her shoulder, she calls, "Don't wait up for me, Abby."

"Oh, I will. I'm waiting up until you come back."

At the door, Dr. Holtzmann turns. "Are you sure that's a good idea? You get cranky when you pull allnighters."

"Don't you think about it, Holtzmann."

"I’m thinking about it."

"Don't you dare."

And then she pitches her voice high and whiny as she yells, "You're not even my real mom!"

"You can’t get out of this with jokes, Holtzmann–”

Dr. Holtzmann steers her out into the fresh-ish air of the city outside, where the ever-present traffic drowns out anything Short-and-Nearsighted might be yelling. Jennifer is surprised to find out that Dr. Holtzmann is surprisingly short. Not shorter than Short-and-Nearsighted, and not as tall as Patty, but Jennifer would have thought she was closer in height to Awkward Ex-Professor. Instead, Jennifer would be a good five inches taller than Dr. Holtzmann even if she were to take off her heels.

Jennifer lets herself be lead down a block, before she clears her throat. "I informed your colleagues, Dr. Holtzmann–"

"If you're not going to call me Jillian, at least call me Holtzmann. Throwing on the _doctor_ sounds too formal."

"I don't know if they relayed the message to you, but I am not gay." It's important Dr. Holtzmann knows that, important that people know it. And understand it. And accept it. And not question it. There is nothing to question.

Holtzmann drops her arm from Jennifer’s waist, hitching her thumbs into the pockets of her overalls. Jennifer wonders how she does it. The overalls run very tight, fitting close against her body, and the pockets probably don't have much storage space. "I'm still getting a free gyro out of it," she continues, seemingly unaffected. "So it's not an entire wash."

She doesn’t have a terrible poker face, but Jennifer is an expert in communication, and most of communication happens through expressions, and she is very good at reading expressions. There was a flash of disappointment, and her expression is not as bright as it had been.

Holtzmann is hardly the first lesbian to approach Jennifer, but the rebuff has never been easy.

Jennifer searches for a conversational topic. “So…”

Holtzmann turns to look at her. 

Absolutely nothing comes to mind, so she blurts out, "Are all of you gay?"

She spends a moment pretending to think it over, tapping at her lips included, before she breaks into a grin. "No,” she says, looking back out ahead, “I think Patty is our token straight friend."

"Is that how the rest of you met?"

"Nope. Abby and Erin met in high school through ghost stuff. I met Erin through Abby, so ghost stuff by proxy. Though me and Abby..."

"Did you two used to date?" Jennifer asks, eyebrows knitting together. She can't imagine Abby as her type – she's loud, and Holtzmann is energetic. It would be too chaotic. Holtzmann would need someone more grounded to be compatible with.

Holtzmann just makes a face. "No, no. She's like my fairy godmother. Place the emphasis where you will. She just started up an LGBT club at the Higgins Science Institute, and..."

"And?" Jennifer asks, curious despite herself.

"And the club consisted of her, me, and five creepy guys who wanted to see if they could get to watch two girls making out. Abby complained, but the dean told Abby that if she were to ask them to leave, when they claimed they were questioning their sexuality, that it would go against the spirit of the club. So she asked me if I liked ghosts. And sure, who doesn't like ghosts? So she started a ghost club. And no reputable scientist would ever believe in such a thing, so the club was just me and her. And we talked about ghost stuff. And gay stuff. But mostly ghost stuff. Though Abby has screened most of my dates."

“Why is that?”

“I’m not… particularly good at dating.” Holtzmann looks up at her, and lowers her voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “Girls think I’m strange.”

Jennifer is tactful enough not to comment.

“And so Abby would talk with them for ten minutes, and really amp up her special brand of strange. She figured that if they could get get along well enough with her, I would be safe for a few hours.”

The phrasing catches her attention. “And were you?”

She looks away. “Usually.” She takes an abrupt right at the next corner.

Jennifer sees that there’s a man half-way down the block with a metal food cart.

The man catches sight of them – or more specifically, Holtzmann – and yells out, “Hey!”

Holtzmann throws her hand up for a large wave.

As they approach, the man calls out, “Your usual?”

“No I’m not,” she replies, shooting him a grin.

The man laughs, but starts preparing a gyro.

Holtzmann is smiling as she turns back to Jennifer. “So, Jenny–”

“Miss Lynch.”

“Jennifer?”

“Miss Lynch.”

“So, Grandest Personal Assistant in New York City, what do you want?” Holtzmann asks, as the man passes her a gyro. “Lamb, pork, bit of both…?” 

Jennifer breaks out her polite smile. “What are your vegetarian options?” she asks the man.

“Do you like falafel?” he replies.

“I do.”

“Falafel it is.”

Holtzmann shifts her weight from foot to foot. “Next time, I’d list dietary restrictions before we start ordering.”

Jennifer gives her points for the fact it seems she is waiting for Jennifer to get her own gyro before eating. After a moment’s hesitation, she doesn’t smile, only shrugs a shoulder. “Most places have a vegetarian option,” she says, taking her gyro from the man, and handing him a twenty. “Is there a place to sit down and eat, or are we walking and eating?”

“Depends on how elegant you are when walking and eating,” she says, smiling, as she leads her down the block.

“I don’t know about elegance, but it is efficient. It’s how I spend most lunch breaks.”

“Walking and eating?”

“And either texting or emailing.”

“And in heels,” Holtzmann adds, admiringly.

There’s a table outside a coffeeshop, and Jennifer takes one of the chairs. “Thank you,” she says, because it’s polite, and also because it took a sharp learning curve to master.

They eat in silence. While it’s not her ideal way to spend an evening – there is a bottle of pinot noir that has been calling to her all day – it’s not horrible. It’s nice, even.

“So, Miss Lynch, I have a very important question.”

Jennifer feels a flare of worry, but then smiles brightly. “Yes?”

“Do you ever get tired of smiling?”

It catches Jennifer off-guard, but her smile does not waver. “Of course not.”

She leans in and lowers her voice. “Was that a lie?”

Jennifer amps her smile up to cheek-hurting brightness. “Of _course_ not.”

Holtzmann stares at her for a long moment, then the corners of her mouth flick up into a smile. “Riiight…” 

They sit in silence once more.

As pleasant as this work obligation turned out to be, Jennifer really needs a drink. She clears her throat. “I should be heading home,” she says, gazing at the shops across the streets.

“I’m taking the long route back to HQ.” From the corner of her eye, Jennifer can see that Holtzmann is staring intently at her.

Jennifer does not fidget, because Jennifer is never nervous in regards to work obligations. “I live a block over.” She stands up, and waits a moment, which Holtzmann sees as the implicit permission it is.

It’s a quiet walk.

Heart pounding, Jennifer stops at her stoop. She sets a foot on the first step, but doesn’t take it. “This is me,” she says.

“This is you,” Holtzmann repeats, staring at Jennifer.

Jennifer is not nervous.

Holtzmann leans in.

 _Don’t kiss me_ , she thinks.

She tilts her head and leans to the side of her face.

_A kiss on the cheek is fine though, it’s not anything, it’s just a–_

And then quietly, in her ear, “Goodnight, Miss Lynch.”

A shiver runs through her whole body.

In one smooth movement, Holtzmann is out of her space, taking a step back, then turning on her heel and sauntering down the sidewalk.

Her overalls are very, very tight, fitting close against her– 

_No_ , she thinks to herself.

Holtzmann turns on her heel again.

_Absolutely not._

She holds her hand in the shape of a phone and mouths, ‘ _Call me._ ’

_Not going to happen._

Then Holtzmann is smirking, lips curled and with a very pleased expression on her face.

Jennifer straightens herself up, then heads up to her apartment and pinot noir.


End file.
